


Loyalty

by Sheriarty



Series: Blank Spaces [7]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alpha Eames (Inception), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, F/M, Lots of it, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Not Beta Read, Omega Arthur (Inception), basically Mal after she was incepted by Dom, off screen depression, off screen description of violence, off screen suicid, the boys still have lots of communication issues, there is smut in this one so be warned, this one is depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheriarty/pseuds/Sheriarty
Summary: “I have to. They’re my friends,” the omega replies in a tired tone of voice, turning his face when Eames straightens up, looking at the alpha with resolution in his dark eyes. Beautiful, stubborn Arthur. Why does he have to be so loyal?---While Cobb's eyes were on Mal, always on Mal, what went on around him? Arthur tries to hold the ripping seams of Mal's sanity together to no avail and Eames is helplessly standing by the side line.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception), Dom Cobb/Mal Cobb
Series: Blank Spaces [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1509056
Comments: 23
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

„You don’t have to… You have no obligation, you know that,” Eames mutters, as he slowly wraps the gauze around Arthur’s arm, frown deepening, when the omega winces, but otherwise stays quiet, while deliberately staring past Eames’ shoulder towards the TV, even though the screen is blank.

“I’m not talking about this again,” Arthur grunts, forehead furrowing in that way Eames knows means he is leveling up on his stubbornness and in a few minutes he will clamp down completely and Eames could just as well talk to a wall then and get to have a more cooperate conversational partner.

It makes him want to ground his teeth together to keep from screaming and grab the other by the shoulders to shake some sense into him.

“Of course we’re not bloody talkin’ about it, you just always booty call me for damage control afterwards,” Eames snaps back and he knows, logically, that it is the wrong way to approach this, because getting angry at Arthur only has the fueling effect of making Arthur fire back, until both of them rile each other up too much and they storm into different directions, steaming ears and cursing the other. But Eames can’t help it – he is so _frustrated_ with the situation.

“Well, if it’s such a burden to you, you should have said something,” Arthur sneers, pulling his arm from Eames’ grasp to get to his feet and Eames knew, he _knew_ , but sometimes he just can’t help it.

“Arthur-“ he sighs then, which is the wrong thing to do, because Arthur throws him a murderous glare, about to stomp out of the apartment room ~~they~~ he was renting, but before the omega can make two steps, Eames gets out of the armchair and snatches his wrist. Arthur, of course, freezes up, the omega automatically locking joints for a second, being grabbed like that. He looks up to the alpha and levels him with a look of outmost reproach.

Eames has the decency to give an apologizing noise, loosening his grip, but keeping his fingers around the other one’s wrist, soothing a thumb over his pulse point as he steps closer, leaning into Arthur’s space.

“I’m sorry,” Eames murmurs, entwining their hands as he tries to nuzzle against Arthur’s cheek, the omega narrowing his eyes in a dignified manner, not reciprocating, but not rebuking the alpha, either. It’s a start.

“I’m worried about you, darling. I can’t stand knowing you go back there again, risking your neck,” he tries to explain, and feels Arthur’s hand twitch in his. Eames is just so worried, it has him on edge for weeks now and even he loses his cool at some point. And it frustrates him that Arthur won’t _listen_ to him. It’s unnecessarily dangerous and Eames doesn’t want him there. He knows he can’t order Arthur. Pity the man who’d ever think he could make Arthur do anything. But _still_.

“I have to. They’re my friends,” the omega replies in a tired tone of voice, turning his face when Eames straightens up, looking at the alpha with resolution in his dark eyes. Beautiful, stubborn Arthur. Why does he have to be so loyal? Why isn’t he that loyal to _him_?

“She came at you with a knife, Arthur,” Eames can’t help but point out, anger simmering under his calm.

“She doesn’t know it’s me. She is confused,” Arthur protests, dropping his eyes, but Eames lifts his hand to take his chin in between his thumb and forefinger, making him look up to him again.

“She tried to kill you, Arthur,” Eames countered, voice dropping low, needing Arthur to _understand_ that this is reality. His best friend wants to kill him, because she thinks she is still dreaming. Because she’s gone _insane_. Arthur can’t _help_ her. And being there to let her swing knives at him is not loyalty any longer. It’s just madness.

Arthur’s nostrils flare as he pulls free, pushes away, glaring at Eames as he squares his shoulders. He doesn’t want to hear the truth, because it makes it so much more real. But he needs to. He needs to _understand_.

Eames sees the waver in his gaze, the helplessness in his eyes. He knows, just like Eames, that he can’t help Mal. And he knows it is pointless to return to the Cobb household. He _knows_. And still, he will go back. Even though he knows that Eames is right. He is not listening, closing his eyes against the glaring truth.

“I’m not discussing this again,” the omega retorts, repeating himself, as he has repeated himself the last few weeks since Eames had started trying to talk him out of going back. Ever since Arthur had come home one evening with a bleeding nose and a bruise blooming against his sharp cheekbone, making Eames want to break something and cradle the man into his arms and away from anything that could possibly hurt him. It was just the beginning and it had gotten so much worse. And the worst pain Eames can’t shield Arthur from. Watching your best friend slide into insanity and being helpless against it.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur, you can’t help her anymore!” Eames whisper-yells between gritted teeth, frustration getting the better of him, because they’re going in circles, again and again and it always ends the same: Arthur leaves, goes back to the Cobbs and a day or two later he calls Eames, because he needs someone to stitch him up, not wanting to go to the hospital. Eames is so _sick_ of it. He is sick of watching it, sitting on his hands, acting like a godforsaken nurse for someone who just doesn’t know when to bloody stop!

Arthur’s gaze trembles in fury, face ashen, while angry red spots bloom high on his cheekbones and he curls his hands by his sides, muscles tensing enough to shake. Eames knows what a tremendous effort it is for the omega not to lose his temper and roar back, maybe even lash out, before storming off. Eames is clever enough not to further agitate him, biting his lip to reel his own anger back in:

“Arthur, _please_ -,“ he pleads under his breath instead, taking a step towards him, but it’s the wrong thing to do, because the omega snarls at him, making Eames’ blood curdle, before whirling around on his heels and stomping off.

Eames wants to pull on his own hair as the door slam shut loudly. Instead he groans under his breath and sinks back into the armchair, putting his face into his hands briefly and rubbing up and down, pressing his fingers into his eye sockets.

“Fuck…” he croaks into the oppressing silence of the room.

* * *

_Darling, you forgot your coat [05:39]_

_Did you go back to the Cobbs? [06:15]_

_You didn’t even let me finish your arm [06:20]_

_Darling, please [07:32]_

_Are you alright? [07:59]_

_I’m worried [08:26]_

_Arthur, please pick up. [10:40]_

* * *

When the keys turn in the lock that night, Eames is still sitting in the armchair, not having moved much since this evening. His head snaps up from where he had been staring at the crossword puzzle of the TV magazine for over an hour without even a pencil in his hand.

When Arthur comes into the room and sees Eames sitting there, the omega’s shoulders slump and he scuffs his feet, dragging them on the carpet as he walks over to him, staring to the ground. Eames doesn’t wait, immediately lifts his arms up in a welcoming manner and the omega plumps into his chest, pressing the air out of Eames’ lungs with the impact.

The alpha instantly cradles him close, eyes falling shut. He breathes him in, pressing his nose to Arthur’s neck and feels the other shuddering a breath and then slowly relax into him. His hands are cold where he has pushed them into Eames’ side and his nose is like ice where it is pressed against Eames’ ear shell.

It’s as much of an apology as Eames will get and he can live with that. Arthur is not good with his words. For all the eloquence and literacy the point man owns, he is formidably awful at using it to talk about his thoughts or, daresay, his feelings.

Eames doesn’t ask him where he was or what he did or if he will go back to Cobb or not. He knows he won’t like the answers to these questions. With a long sigh that drains the tension from his body he only now realizes he held, Eames relaxes into the chair, Arthur smothering him with his body and scent and his bony knees digging into his thighs and Eames wishes he would just _stay_.


	2. Chapter 2

The door slams shut hard enough to rattle in the hinges and Arthur’s shoulders twitch the slightest bit, walking in front of him, straight towards the kitchen area. He sits down, while Eames fumes as he crouches by the counter, jerking out the first-aid-kit. Arthur’s shoulders twitch again, when Eames slams the kit down onto the table with force and rips it open to get out the gauze and the disinfect.

Arthur silently extends his arm, the very arm Eames had bandaged not even four days ago, the very arm that’s bleeding again now, the old gauze bloodied and ripped apart.

Eames takes out the scissors and starts cutting the useless gauze away, seething silently. His fingers are as steady as a surgeon's.

His lashes twitch slightly when he dabs the cotton ball, drenched in cleansing alcohol, across the nasty double gashes left by a meat fork. Arthur hisses under his breath, balling his hand to a fist.

“… Eames-“, he starts, but Eames interrupts him sharply, “Don’t. Arthur. Just don’t”.

Arthur, wisely, keeps his mouth shut, while Eames handles the new wound, wraps it back up.

The silence between them is so loaded, Eames can feel the tension frizzling at the edges. Just one wrong word. His fingers clench harder than needed around the bottle of pills he shoves unkindly over the table so Arthur can reach it, before making moves to get up and leave. He knows if he doesn’t, he won’t be able to remain this subterfuge of control any longer.

“Eames, wait-“ Arthur makes the mistake of grabbing after him in a moment Eames really does not want to be touched and the alpha slaps the hand away, before it can curl fingers around his arm.

“What do you want, Arthur? What?!” Eames barks out and he can see Arthur reeling back from the reprimand for a moment, before squaring his shoulders and glaring back, even though he tries to remain calm with his voice: “You have no reason to get angry, Eames.”

It’s by far the worst thing he could have possible said. Eames feels a mix of anger and disbelief come together to bubble hotly in his guts, threatening to boil over. It is simmering just under the surface, cracking dangerously. He breathes through his nose, deeply.

“And, pray tell, dear Arthur. Why do I not have any reason? Do enlighten me,” he asks then, voice low and far too calm to be anything but a last straw.

It’s not the reaction Arthur expected, as he looks stunned for a second, then drops his eyes, seemingly trying to collect himself. “This has nothing to do with you-“

“Oh? Well, if that’s what you think, then I’ll pack my shit then, shall I?” Eames replies with fake sweetness in his voice, reaching over to snap the first aid kit close with a loud clang. Arthur’s head snaps back up, eyes narrowing.

“Stop that,” he snaps at the alpha, but before Eames can retort anything, he pushes on, “You can’t blackmail me like that”.

“Blackmail-?!” Eames repeats incredulously and Arthur insists: “Yes! Blackmail me. You think I will abandon Cobb, just because you threaten to fuck off again?”

Eames can’t even begin to understand where the _fuck_ this is coming from, where the hell Arthur even gets that thought from and it makes him so angry, because Arthur just doesn’t understand him. He doesn’t even make the effort to try.

“I am not threatening to fuck off, because I want to blackmail you! What the actual fuck, Arthur?”

“And why else would you?”

Eames wants to bang his head against the wall – or Arthurs.

“Because I can’t keep watching this! I am fed up with watching you killing yourself! This is insane! I’ll fucking leave, so god help me, I won’t sit on my hands and watch this!”

Arthur has gotten to his feet by now and is snarling back just as venomously: “Yeah fine, piss off then! Piss of, Eames, for all I care, you commitment issues ridden piece of shit!”

He has no idea how the conversation has stirred to this, how Arthur gets from Eames no longer keeping quiet about his suicidal tendencies to throw himself into the way of meat forks wielded by crazy wives to Eames having _commitment issues_.

“What the sodding hell does this have to do with anything? I just can’t watch you kill yourself, you dick!”

But Arthur seems to be on a roll, or has suddenly regressed to selective hearing, not listening to a bloody word Eames says, as he goes all up Eames’ space, the chair clattering to the ground, the poor furniture in the way of Arthur’s wrath. His finger japs sharply into Eames’ chest and the alpha stumbles back half a step, before finding better footing and issuing a silent snarl at the fuming omega, who is trying to dominate him with moves like that, like a fucking cocksure teenager.

“Stop searching for fucking excuses to be able to break this off,” Arthur gnarls the words out, spitting them at Eames’ face, who has no idea where this _comes_ from and only gets angrier because of it. Doesn’t Arthur fucking see that Eames is _scared_ about him? Why can’t he fucking see that Eames is dying, watching him do this? Why is he going back to the Cobbs even though he knows it’s killing him? Fuck, why is he so loyal to _them_? Why are they more important than _he_ is?

“What the fuck, Arthur?” he shoves back then, not as hard as he could, but harsh enough to make Arthur stumble back as well and Arthur looks ready to lunge at him for a moment, crouching down slightly and Eames instinctively braces himself, while the other sneers: “You just need an excuse to leave, you fucking liar! We’ve been together for months already and we’re still-“, he stops himself there, breathing harshly and it takes Eames only a moment to understand what Arthur didn’t finish. He feels his own face slacken in utter stupefaction as the meaning sinks in.

There is complete silence, only interrupted by Arthur’s breathing and Eames’ own blood rushing in his ears, pounding against his eye balls, because he can’t fucking believe this. It must show on his face, because the omega’s gaze drop, ears coloring hotly.

Eames tries to wrap his head around how it all boils down to this for Arthur. Arthur’s eyes are jittery as they flicker up, over Eames’ form, the omega waiting for the back lash, trying to gauge the reaction he is going to receive.

Judging by his stupefied expression, he doesn’t anticipate Eames’ face screwing up, before the alpha resolutely turns on his heels and stomps towards the bedroom.

Eames is glad he lives out of his suitcase anyway, so he only has to throw a handful of things back in, snapping it shut, before walking out. Arthur is nowhere to be seen. Eames can hear the shower running through the closed bathroom door.

A small part of him thought Arthur would try to stop him. Or at least watch him leave. Or hell, throw something after him or let the door slap his ass on his way out.

Gritting his teeth, Eames grips the suitcase and leaves, blinking against the sting in his eyes and drawing the coat tighter around himself.


	3. Chapter 3

It is raining since Tuesday and Eames can’t even find any solace in it, as he sits by the window, like a sap, the tea in his hands gone cold by now. He sighs, breath fogging against the glass and he doesn’t resist the urge to lift a hand to draw mindless patterns against the cold surface. Nobody is there to judge him, he can sit by the window watching rain and be miserable all he wants.

Eames has always been one to act his feelings out in the embrace of his own privacy. When he is sad, he admits it to himself. Yes, he is miserable, yes, he holes himself up in his apartment in London, Soho. Torturing himself, somewhat, with Arthur's scent lingering here from his last visit. Yes, he makes himself tea and forgets to drink it, because he is too busy staring out onto the grey streets, forehead leaning against the cold window.

Anyone trying to distract themselves from their own feelings clearly have a very unhealthy relationship to their own emotional state. Eames’ mother had always taught him to be honest to himself. Lie to everyone else, if you must, but never to yourself. When you’re happy, laugh, when you love someone, admit it to yourself, when you’re sad, cry and embrace it and don’t tell yourself to get a grip and discard it. No, it’s okay to be sad, and it’s okay to take your time. And if you want to listen to sad music and eat a gallon of ice cream, fucking do it.

After more than a week, Eames thought he would feel less hollow, less exhausted, because usually, he does. He takes his time to get it out of his system and he moves on. He has never been one to linger. Not on things, not on people. He doesn’t look back.

But he is still dragging his feet, still feeling an ache deep in his chest, when he wakes up in the morning and his hand reaches into emptiness next to him. When he gets out two mugs automatically, before remembering and ruefully putting one back into the cupboard. There is a scent missing in between the sheets.

He shouldn’t have left.

_It’s good that I did._

That’s the thing with him, though. Eames is a hiding person. Has always been. He once accidentally kicked a basketball through the neighbor’s garage window and hid away for the rest of the day, until his mama found him and promised him not to punish him if he went to the Watson’s and apologized.

It had kind of stuck, that habit of his, leaving, running, when he can’t deal, when he is scared or overwhelmed, when he fears his own reaction and rather subducts himself from the situation. Alphas are supposed to have a spine of steel. Eames likes to say his is more of a coil spring. It isn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, it isn’t the bravest of behaviors and Arthur isn’t all wrong pointing out his commitment issues.

After having a few days to think about it, Eames can admit that to himself.

He is a coward in many ways. A gambler that knows when to run when the risks are too high. But he also knows that it’s better for them that he left. Because otherwise, he might have tried to stop Arthur. Letting instincts kick in. As much as he likes to think his instincts aren’t the boss of him – Arthur is his omega and Eames wants to protect him. He fears, maybe, he would have tried it forcefully, thinking he was doing this for Arthur’s own good. And Eames does not want to do that. He despises nothing more. He won’t force Arthur (successful in its intention or not), because it speaks against everything Eames has been taught.

As an alpha, you attend to omegas, you serve your omega, your _mate_ , you don’t push your will onto them, you don’t overpower them and you don’t force them, just because you _can_.

 _You are more than your own instincts. Empowerment is born out of the trust people gift to you not to use your power_ against _them, but_ for _them._

Eames’ sigh fogs the window once more, the ghost of his pattern coming back to the surface on the glass.

It’s not the only reason he left.

Eames has always been exceptionally self-aware, but it helps little, when he never truly uses this ability to better himself.

He also left, because it hurt to hear Arthur thinking Eames just wanted an excuse, when, in reality, Eames had been scared for Arthur and had been hurting, watching Arthur hurt himself, returning to the Cobbs again and again. It hurt, knowing Arthur thought so little of his motifs. That Arthur didn’t trust him, even though they have been together for almost five months, had been working up to something real, something serious. Eames has thought, something live-long maybe.

He also left, because he couldn’t bear Arthur choosing the Cobbs over him. And yes, it is selfish and stupid and petty, Eames is aware of it (again, he _is_ self-aware), but he cannot help it. He knows, he has no right to demand to be the most important person in someone else’s life. He does not deserve the right to ask to be the choice when someone has to decide between him and others. He has no right to think himself more important than Arthur’s friends. He just wishes he _was_ , even though, he does not deserve that unconditional love. And you can’t force that. It has to be given. And really, who would give it to a selfish coward like him?

* * *

The doorbell is a surprise.

Eames is holding the gun pointed to the door at gut level, as he presses an ear to the frame, body tense and ready to act. His eyes widen and he takes a step back from the door, staring silently, when Arthur’s scent hits him.

Of course Arthur has been here before, with him, in his flat in London. They did spent time here in between jobs once in a while, Arthur even visited now and then, when he was in the area. But Eames wouldn’t have thought to expect him again.

“Eames-“, Arthur’s voice croaks through the door and he hears something suspiciously much like a sniff and a hollow thumb against the door.

Eames puts the safety on, puts the gun onto the small table and fumbles with the lock, the chain and as soon as the door clicks open, Arthur steps over the threshold. His shoulders are drawn up and his face is pale, hair even darker than usual, plastered to his head from the heavy rain. He brings a gush of coldness with him from the outside, his beige coat damp with dark, wet spots on the shoulders, hanging from his frame. Goosebumps prickle up Eames’ naked arms as he inhales him.

He lifts his head briefly and meets Eames’ eyes, swallows and then sniffs again, nose running from the cold outside. Eames’ heart is pounding against his chest and he swallows as well, Arthur’s scent descending onto his senses like a warm, dark cloak and he resists the urge to close his eyes and take a more audible deep breath.

“Is everything alright? You’re …,” he starts, but his voice trails off, because he doesn’t really know what he wants to say. What are you doing here? Why are you here? Why did you wait over a week? Why didn’t you stop me? Why did you let me leave at all? Don’t tell me the Cobbs are waiting in the lobby.

Arthur looks miserable, Eames can see it in all the little details, no matter how well groomed he is. The darker circles under his eyes, the bloodshot white of them, the furrow between his brows, the hard, pale line of his lips pressing together, his face seemingly even more angular than usual, harsh cuts and shadows.

“They’re okay, it’s- … I just wanted to..,” Arthur answers and answers everything left unsaid as well. He left them, he went after Eames, it was more important for him to go after Eames than to stay with the Cobbs.

Eames lets out a breath he hasn’t realized he has been holding and then he steps into Arthur’s space, reaching around him to pull the door close and in the same move gently push Arthur against it to crowd him in and stick his nose into his neck.

Arthur lets out a low noise and wraps his arms around him, turning his face to do the same, the two of them breathing each other in in silent greed. Eames likes to think he is not a romantic, but something in his chest seems to click back into place as he lets his nose and cheek rub gently against Arthur’s damp skin, relishing in the small ‘mhms’ he gets in return, vibrating against his own neck as Arthur scents him back. He can feel the other one’s fingers curl and uncurl against the back of his shirt.

Arthur came all the way back to him. Because Eames is more important to him. Eames wouldn’t have expected for Arthur to ever go after him again. He swallows against the knot in his throat and turns his lips to push a closed-mouthed kiss against Arthur’s neck. It elicits a small shiver, so Eames does it again and again, lips parting to plant warm, damp kisses there, which has Arthur soon shudder, issuing pleased little sighs and letting his hands warm themselves under Eames’ shirt.

* * *

“Eames …” Arthur’s voice is like gravel, traveling down his spine, as he stretches the omega out on the mattress, hushing him with gentle noises as he noses along his hip and nuzzles against the dark trail of hair in his lap. He hears the sharp intake of breath above him, while his tongue drags wetly down his pubic hair to the rapidly hardening cock.

Closing his eyes, Eames wraps his lips around the wet, shining head, sucking the hot weight into his mouth and relishing in the choked-off noises from above and the heady scent surrounding him. There is a hand finding its way into his hair and he hums in appreciation, letting the palm guide him up and down a handful of times. He smiles, as much as it is possible with his lips stretched around Arthur’s cock, when he feels the slightly frantic petting gesture and then the fingers curl around his hair and tug, unmistakably.

Eames, almost ruefully, lets up, pushing a teasing kiss to the red glistening head, smiling when it jumps and spills more pre-come. Arthur’s eyes are almost completely black as he strains to lift his head, still tugging insistently, until Eames crawls back on top of him. His breath hitches as their cocks rub together in delicious friction and they both take a few moments to enjoy Eames’ moving his hips, rutting together languidly.

“-Eames… come on, hurry the fuck up,” Arthur groans impatiently, one leg hooking around his smaller back, heel digging in, as if Eames is a horse to be spurred on. It makes him laugh against Arthur’s sweaty temple and he can feel Arthur’s lips curling against his cheek as well and they both pant, breathless, giddy.

“You can blow me to your heart’s content next round,” Arthur prompts him, voice husky and when Eames gives an aroused low growl in answer, Arthur bucks up his hips suggestively, “Eames“.  
“Yes, yes. Bossy …” Eames hurries to comply, getting back onto all fours to push Arthur onto his stomach by the hip and shoulder, the omega eager to help along, wriggling his knees under his body, elbows supporting his weight. The sight does something to Eames and he swallows around a suddenly dry throat as he plasters his body over Arthur’s.

The memory of a hotel room in Germany years ago comes to the surface, trickling along his spine in a mix of arousal and shame. Shuddering slightly, he buries his face behind Arthur’s ear and opens his mouth to clamp his teeth around the fleshy part, the junction between shoulder and neck. He knows what Arthur will do before he even feels him tense and when the other tries to trash and buck him off, instinctively, Eames bites down, hard and at the same time pushes him down with all his weight, Arthur’s arms giving out. He struggles under him, a delicious hot delight, fighting on pure primordial urges and Eames shows him that he won’t be able to fend him off.

As fatuous as it always sounds, when you read it in sex-Ed as a teen, or sits through it in cringing educational documentaries, Eames can’t help the triumph rushing through him, when Arthur goes lax under him, giving in. As silly as he always thought it to be, he growls low in his throat now and puts more pressure around his jaw, until the omega starts to whine high-pitched, his scent sweet and luxurious as it intensifies. It’s stupid, it’s instinct, but Eames had never in his life been so turned on as he is now. Had never felt so powerful and right. The high he feels, pinning Arthur under him and smelling the tide of chemicals taking them both under and signaling for him to stake his claim now, with his partner willing and submitting, is - indescribable. A part of Eames wants to turn Arthur around, wants to see his serene expression, his blown, dark pupils under hooded lashes, wants to see and kiss the undoubtedly slack mouth and listen to the small noises he will do when Eames bites and touches his welcoming, open body now.

Another part, though, is far too comfortable with their position as it is now, with his cock pressed into the hot crease of Arthur’s perfect, slick ass, rocking his hips and groaning low in his chest at the friction, while his omega gives breathy, satisfied ‘hms’ and ‘ahs’, waiting patiently for his alpha to claim. There is an underlying urgency, slight impatience in Arthur’s noises, but no frantic movements, no resistance or fight.

He is enclosed in a woolen chemical blanket just like Eames, both of them safe and secure in each other, as Eames helps the slack body back into a kneeling position and holds him steadily at the hips, before sinking into the slick heat. Eames’ eyes might have rolled into the back of his head, as he tilts his chin heavenward and groans, fingers bruising in their hold, blood rushing through his ears, almost making him miss the noise Arthur makes, low and throaty in his surprisingly deep voice.

Eames rocks his hips back and forth experimentally a few times, eyes screwed shut, feeling Arthur clench and shudder around him, suddenly jerking in his hold slightly. It has him open his eyes again, only to realize the other dropped boneless onto his chest into the mattress, arms uselessly to the side and it’s such an unbelievably endearing and at the same time arousing picture that Eames can’t help plastering himself over Arthur almost hastily, sloppily kissing his neck and temple, one hand reaching to his shoulder and holding him secure while starting to thrust into him, his chest pressed against Arthur’s sharp shoulder blades. He hears Arthur’s breathless chuckle in between panting groans and the omega turns his head enough so their cheeks and noses brush against each other while Eames fucks into him.

He is lightheaded with pleasure and giddy happiness, and he knows this is right, this is his mate and this is forever now, as they rock together, until Arthur comes with a silent gasp, whining low until Eames follows a couple of minutes later. As they kiss, Arthur reaching behind him to grasp Eames’ hair, Eames hears the near sob of relief and satisfaction as Eames doesn’t pull out, swells in him, claims him. Arthur is his, Arthur chose him over anyone else. Eames had never felt so right about a decision.

* * *

When he wakes up, the late morning sun streaming in through the open curtains of his flat, Arthur is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah my, aren't they all pros at communicating with each other?


	4. Chapter 4

He finds him at the airport.

Eames is glad he is a quick thinker.

He immediately got a taxi to bring him here, because Arthur is already through security and probably headed off to his gate. Eames can feel him, can feel him everywhere forever now, he thinks bitterly, as he lets security scan him, hastily bought ticket to get to the gates crumbled in his jacket pocket. The security guard gives him a strange look after Eames retrieves his jacket, phone and wallet and nothing else, but Eames barely notices, jogging towards the duty-free area and following his nose through the crowded area.

He knows Arthur is still here, just as he knows where he is going back to. And Eames can’t fucking _believe_ it. He thought they were better than this – he thought they were …

Arthur senses him approaching before Eames has to announce himself, but the omega doesn’t immediately turn around. His shoulders draw up in a telling way, while Eames slows his steps, knowing he has him cornered now. So much for fucking off, Eames thinks blistering hotly, as he walks towards where the omega is standing by the large windows that face the approaching and leaving planes. So much for commitment issues. It leaves a bitter, betrayed taste on his tongue. The seating area is mostly empty, the people already lining up to board. Eames wouldn’t even have cared if they had had an audience.

Eames comes to stand in front of him, a row of seats between them, staring hotly at the back of Arthur’s head, until, at long last, the other turns to look over his shoulder at Eames. The fact alone that he isn’t even turning around has Eames bristle inwardly as he crosses his arms over his chest and stares.

“I need to go,” Arthur’s voice is almost inaudible over the general noise around them, but Eames hears him nevertheless.

“Care to explain why?” Eames replies and his voice sounds vicious even to himself, but he is so angry right now and he wants Arthur to _know_. A part of Eames (again, the self-aware part) knows his own anger is just a defense mechanism. Better angry than letting the hurt, he knows, lurks on the periphery of his mind, get to him. The disappointment. They are better than this. They can _talk_.

Eames bites his bottom lip, tries to take a deep breath and calm himself as well. They can talk, yes. This means for him to stay cool, too. It’s hard, harder than he thought it would be, because normally he can keep himself in check relatively easy. He’s not a hot-head.

“Can we not do this now?” Arthur turns slowly, walking forward to grab his duffel bag from one of the chairs between them. Eames strides forward as well to put his hand onto it and keep Arthur from picking it up. “-Eames,” Arthur snaps, his expression tight and unhappy and Eames curls his nose in answer, not letting go. Arthur looks so crestfallen that it feels like a punch to the stomach and Eames can feel his own anger slowly evaporating, making room for the confusion and hurt he is trying to hold off. Without it, Eames suddenly feels vulnerable, confused. He doesn’t _get_ it. Why is Arthur leaving, when he clearly doesn’t want to? And why is he leaving without _saying_ anything? Not even a note? They deserve better. Their relationship deserves better.

“Arthur, why are you leaving?” he asks him and he hopes he doesn’t sound as pleading as he feels, masking it under a calm he doesn’t possess at the moment. He needs Arthur to have a good answer, needs him to show that this relationship has become as important to him, as it has to Eames. Important enough to explain himself to Eames. They can’t do this _not_ - _talking_ thing any longer. It’s too fragile what they have, too new still. Arthur looks to the side and tugs on the bag when the announcement sounds that the boarding is starting now.

“Why are you leaving, Arthur? We just-… you can’t just fuck off like this without a word, not after last night,” Eames continues, voice lowered, still holding the bag down and trying to catch Arthur’s eyes, but the omega won’t look at him. “Arthur-“, Eames tries again, more insistently and he grabs after Arthur’s hand instead, but the other recoils as if Eames’ touch burns him.

“Let go of the bag-!” Arthur whisper-hisses and pulls the straps out of Eames’ lax fingers, the alpha staring at him with a gobsmacked expression, hurt flashing over his eyes.

“Arthur, don’t lea-“

“You left, too. You left and I had to leave and get back to _you_ -” Arthur tries to snap, but his voice is strangled, as he shoulders his duffel bag and Eames knows he must have flinched at Arthur’s words, because Arthur looks up to him again, almost looking apologetic, but it doesn’t make any sense.

“That was different and you know that,” the alpha tries to reason, even though the whole situation is simply bizarre and Eames doesn’t know why Arthur is leaving, like this, looking so miserable, clearly not wanting to leave him. Why isn’t he explaining?

“Dom needs me, Eames. Now,” Arthur presses out between clenched teeth, trying to walk towards the rapidly shortening row in front of the boarding gate, but Eames walks parallel along the chairs and comes to stand in his way again.

“But I need you, too,” Eames replies and he hates that he sounds so wretched, opened up like a gutted fish, as he steps into Arthur’s space and carefully puts his arms around him, swallowing. He needs him, they need each other, it’s so fragile what they have, so fresh and delicate and they need to be together now, they _need_ to- He feels Arthur inclining towards him and his heart skips a beat as he closes his eyes and the breath of relief feels almost punched out of him.

“-He needs me more,” Arthur apologizes quietly and steps out of Eames’ arms. The alpha blinks, arms coming to hang loosely by his side as he stares at Arthur, who is looking at him now with a stone cold expression. Eames’ heart sinks.

“Oh,” he articulates, voice breaking on that simple sound as his throat constricts and he takes a step back. “Oh,” he repeats, feeling something shatter somewhere in himself, “Okay,” he adds on a breath, blinking, while his heart shrivels in his chest and plummets down into his stomach to sit there like a hot piece of coal burning through his guts. “I understand,” he hears himself say, over the pulse in his own ears. He understands all right.

He leaves.

He hears the boarding for flight DA2048 close their gates as he steps back into the duty free area and he knows Arthur went onto the plane.

He leaves for Kenia the same day, ditching his phone, his flat, his identity, and doesn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, there it is.  
> To clarify - the last part happens right after Mal killed herself and Arthur needs to get Cobb out of the country.
> 
> Now we have a better understanding of why they are both so bitter at each other on the Inception job.


End file.
